


in loving memory

by orangeCrates



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, Kink Meme, M/M, the prompt's OP asked to have their heart ripped out and stomped on
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-15
Updated: 2014-04-15
Packaged: 2018-01-19 11:07:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1467232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orangeCrates/pseuds/orangeCrates
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Altair speaks, but Malik can't hear, and memories can be a source of pain or a balm. It all depends on what you take from them.</p><p>A kink meme fill.</p>
            </blockquote>





	in loving memory

**Author's Note:**

> OP asked for a sadfic. So I wrote a sadfic. Original prompt [here](http://asscreedkinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/2158.html?thread=11755886) along with unbeta'd version.
> 
> Inspired by JJ Lin's ‘修炼爱情 / Practice Love' and its accompanying short animated video.

The Apple was a powerful tool, more so than anyone could even imagine. It could enslave the minds of men or teach them great things.

And it had, if historians were to be believed, been the cause of many miracles in the past.

Altair knew, though, that while it held knowledge, the Apple of Eden cannot create. It cannot make real the things it reveals to its user and those so called miracles were nothing but illusions.

He knew all this, better than most in fact, and yet...

The sound of something being placed on the table made Altair open his eyes (he didn't remember closing them, but he must have at some point). The sound came from a tray of food being set down and, though it certainly hadn't been slammed down, it still clearly conveyed a sharp, reprimanding sort of anger.

Or perhaps, Altair mused, he only thought so because he knew the man who set the tray down was most definitely feeling that way. He feels the edge of his lips pull up and he doesn't even try to hide it before he looks up into Malik's scowling face.

Malik, though, wasn't watching him, but the Apple in his hands.

"You should destroy that damned thing." Altair doesn't respond, knows it's pointless and instead drinks in the sight of his Second. Did the afternoon sun always paint such vivid shadows on his face? It must have. The sounds of Masyaf in the afternoon drifted in from the window to fill the silence before Maliks spoke again, turning to pin Altair with his glare.

"I will not deny that what you have learnt is useful, but I still do not trust it." There was a subtle shift in his expression, still angry but with an edge of worry too. "And I do not care for what it does to you."

"I know." The reply is soft and Altair doesn't really remember, but he's sure Malik heard a different answer because the older man only continued glaring at him.

"So you say." He gestrued at the tray, "Eat. You have been holed up in here long enough. The last thing we need is for the Grandmaster to collapse because he cannot take care of himself."

Altair pushes the chair back and stands. It is the wrong thing to do, he knows, because Malik's eyes are still fixed at his chest, where his face would be if he were still sitting. It was also a mistake to reach out, to try to touch Malik's face, but even so, he couldn't help it.

His fingertips hovered just out of reach, close enough that if he so much as twitched they could touch.

"Malik."

And it wasn't the sound of his name that made Malik look up, but the timing was such that Altair could almost believe it was and, despite himself, his hand moved that last centimetre towards the other man's face.

It was like touching smoke, and it was that, that broke everything.

Altair opened his eyes and he was no longer in Masyaf but Alamut again.

And Malik was gone.

~ + ~

In the beginning it hadn't been the happier memories he wanted to see.

There had been the moment when he and Maria had gone to the dungeons, when they had spoken, when they had left...

Altair wanted to see not because he had wanted to punish himself, but because he wanted to _know_.

Was there anything he could have done differently that could have saved Malik? That could have changed anything so that everything would have played out differently.

(He wasn't sure which answer would be worse: that he could have changed things or that it had been impossible from the start.)

But no matter what he did or said, the memories played out as he remembered them. It was when he reached out for Malik, when they found him starved and beaten in the dungeon that Altair realized he can't touch anything in the memories.

He remembered the feel of Malik's body in his arms (too light. How could a man be weigh so little?), but in these memories, he weighed even _less_. Like air, like he wasn't even there.

The sensation (or lack there of) was always what jarred Altair out of the illusion created by the Apple.

It was the same no matter what he touched, but when it was _Malik_...it was always worse.

(It was a reminder that the man was _dead_ and he was _never coming back_.)

And yet, Altair still looked.

~ + ~

They are in the bureau in Jerusalem this time, and Altair already knows which memory this is even before Malik speaks. (It is the expression on his face, not angry and hateful, but impatient if a little confused.)

"Be out with it."

Altair knows the words of this script well. Had held onto them like a man starved even when he was sure he hadn't deserved them.

And, given everything that's happened, he's more sure than ever that he hadn't.

_I've been a fool._

The words were almost caught in his throat, this time held back not by pride but by grief. But he managed to push them out: "I'm sorry."

_For failing you._

Malik's brow was raised, his confusion only growing, "Normally I'd make no argument, but what is this? What are you talking about?"

"I'm sorry." Saying it a second time was no easier and he steps closer to the counter. He wonders as he walks, how he could have said so much the first time as the silence stretches between them. In the meantime, he watches Malik's reaction.

The way his arm twitched, as if to hold onto what was left of his left arm at the mention of it. 

The grief on his face at the mention of Kadar.

And finally, the way his shoulders relaxed minutely and the acceptance in his expression...it was like someone had driven a dagger into Altair's heart, made it _ache_ so much that it almost took his breath away.

"I do not accept your apology."

Altair swallowed and wondered at the things he'd missed, of all the sights that he hadn't seen in the past because he looked down, because he looked away. If he could have he would have shaken the him from the past.

 _Look up._ he'd say, _do not look away because you will only have one chance to commit this moment to memory. Do not waste what you have because one day you will not be able to protect it!_

And still Malik kept speaking without acknowledging Altair's silence. (Because it did not, in fact, exist here.)

"No. You don't. I do not accept your apology because you are not the same man who went with me into Solomon's Temple. And so you have nothing to apologize for."

"Malik..." The last time all this played out, he'd said the name like a prayer, humbled and awed because this was more than he deserved, because he had wished for forgiveness but never thought he would have it.

He had sworn not to squander it this time, knowing that Malik's regard and his trust were never easily won.

Now it was hoarse, still like a prayer, perhaps, but no longer the kind you spoke in gratitude but the kind spoken over a freshly dug grave as the part of your heart that you had given away is buried along with the one you had given it to.

"Perhaps if I had not been so envious of you, I... would not have been so careless myself. I'm just as much to blame."

"You were not." And Altair knows his words are not for this Malik, that they are not a response to Solomon's Temple but for what happened after.

_"It would not have happened to a stronger leader."_

"It was never your fault."

And Malik spoke over Altair's last words, because there were so many more this time than last.

"We are one. As we share the glory of our victories, so too should we share the pain of our defeat. In this way we grow closer, we grow stronger."

And there is a lump in Altair's throat suddenly because those were the words he should have said to Malik before he left but hadn't.

Because there would always be time later, when the danger has passed.

He should have known better.

_"You can never know anything, only suspect!"_

And he had lost his chance to ever say it. To say anything and it was only when it was too late that Altair realizing just how much had gone unsaid between them.

"I love you." Which is not what he meant to say (what did he mean to say?) but as if in response (even if he knew better) Malik smiled. It was a small, shadowed thing, not like the open expression he'd shared with Altair in their later years, and Altair did not expect the heartbreak one little expression could bring.

"Rest if you need to, Altair, that you might be ready for what lies ahead."

And Altair sat in the darkness long after the illusion had ended, still as a statue.

What he felt was not peace.

Slowly he stood up, replacing the Apple in the pouch he normally kept it in.

No, it was not peace. (Perhaps it never would be again.) But there was purpose in his bearing when he pushed the door open and stepped outside.

He had rested long enough.

 

END


End file.
